Unreachable
by careerinfatuation
Summary: Gadge/Galeniss one-shot from Hazelle's POV. Katniss is dead, Madge gets rejected, and Gale's just majorly suffering. Poor boy. DISCLAIMER: This fic goes against everything I ship, but I had a lot of feels, okay? T just in case. I love reviews, in case you didn't know.
1. Hazelle

The only time I have to myself anymore is in the evenings.

Not around dinnertime, not at the stroke of 12, but the gap right in between. Outside, my children run and chase the neighbors in dusk's blanket, and Gale's finishing his final minutes in the coal mine when twilight falls. Normally, I use this time for myself, catching up on a book or on some sleep, but tonight I thought I'd do dishes. I had just taken a stand at the window when I saw them coming up the hill.

Gale and Katniss.

I couldn't suppress the smile that worked its way across my face.

Gale loved Katniss more than he loved anything. They were one and the same, best friends, better halves. When they were together, the world kind of faded away, making them unreachable to anything but each other. That was the way it had been with my husband and I, and that was how it had been with my parents before us. It was the kind of innocence that gave you butterflies to watch, the kind of love you read about in old North American fairytales. I paused at the sink, staring out at the lovers in the sunset.

They walked hand in hand, nothing more than silhouettes against the smudged purple sky. As they came closer, I blinked, focusing my gaze.

It was then, as he lifted her into his arms, that the truth hit me: Gale is with a girl, and she is not Katniss.  
I'm not sure why I'm so surprised. It's only fitting, considering Katniss is nothing more than a memory.

A wave of nausea rolls over me as I remember: Katniss died several months ago in the 74th annual Hunger Games, at the hands of a District 2 boy with a sword. Gale hasn't been the same since her funeral. He holds a picture of her to his chest in his sleep, cries in dark corners when he thinks no one's watching. On days when he doesn't work, he's out in the meadow, waiting for her at the place where they'd meet up to hunt. He comes back with swollen eyes and a mask of toughness. Unreachable.

They had spent their whole childhood together, and I hoped they'd spend the rest of their lives together, too. I imagined her still sometimes, the only girl worth Gale's hand, the only girl worth Gale's heart. I slink back behind the curtain, silent eyes watching Gale and the other girl. My head pounds; I always thought Katniss was the only one for Gale, but clearly, my son has had a change of heart.

The window is open a crack, and I lean my ear towards the sound of their voices. Soft, frothy giggles float up to meet my ears. "Gale, stop it! Your neighbors will see." He laughs. "How 'bout we go up to my room then?" She must have nodded, because she doesn't respond. As I hear them on the porch, I grab the dish I'm holding and sprint around the corner to hide: I have morals for the most part, but I'm not above eavesdropping.

They pass through the door in a rush, clearly under the impression they're alone. The girl, one I've never seen before, is up in his arms bridal style, their lips smashed together and fighting for dominance. Her hands, tiny and fragile, throw themselves into his hair. One of Gale's hands rests on the small of her back, the other grips her pale, twiggy legs against his body.

Gale is with a girl and she is not Katniss. For some reason, I can't accept this.

I bite my lip, gripping the plate with strange intensity. Gale is with a girl and she is not Katniss. The thought repeats itself over and over, making my heart hammer. _She is not Katniss. She is not Katniss. _Her eyes were trademark blue, her hair buttery blonde, marking her as a member of the merchant class. My stomach contracts: I can't watch this anymore.

The dish I'm holding slips and breaks. The effect is instant.

"MOM!"

Gale drops her immediately, and she fumbles with her feet as she lands. "Mom! Hi…" His hand flies to the back of his head. The girl takes a timid step back, attempting to shield herself with Gale's body. "Um, we were just…" "Picking strawberries," she offers, although you can tell by the fear in her face she regrets speaking at all.

I raise my eyebrows at the pair, but play along: my opportunities for fun have been limited since my husband's death. I'm sure he'd laugh if he were here, watching this unfold. "Oh, wonderful! I needed strawberries for dinner anyways. Would you mind bringing them in?"

Her mouth falls into an o, and she skitters out from behind Gale like a bug on water. She's 5 feet or so, 100 pounds at the most. She looks so out of place in our home, with her frilly dress and perfect face. It's unnatural, like finding a diamond in a lump of coal. I watch the way she moves, with delicateness and grace and flamboyance. Against him, the contrast is stark and obvious. She's lighter, shorter, and softer, replicating a porcelain doll. I picture Gale taking her out to hunt, stifling a laugh. She wouldn't last one second in the woods. He'd have to carry her home.

"I—um—I should go," she says quickly, scrambling for the door in a panic. He grabs her sleeve forcefully. "Madge! Please. Don't go, it's okay."

I freeze. Madge Undersee, the mayor's daughter.

"Stay," Gale begs again. She pulls weakly at her dress, freeing it from his grip. "I can't…" He leans into her, drawing his face up to meet his. They're just about to kiss when I clear my throat, reminding them of my presence. "Gale?" They both jump, turning to face me. "Can I…talk to you for a moment?" His muscles tense up as he stares at me. Madge's hand slides into his with a squeeze. "I'll be right back." "Take your time," she breathes quietly, taking a seat against the wall.

_The poor girl_, I think as I walk away. _Can't she see what he's doing?_ Wordlessly, we file into his room. The mattress squeaks in protest as we take a seat side-by-side on the bed.

"Gale—"

"Don't say it." He fixes his gray eyes on me, his gaze turning from harsh to pleading.

"I know what's coming. Just please…don't say it."

"I know what you're trying to do." He looks down, breaking eye contact. He lowers his voice, muttering quietly. "I told you not to say it."

I lift my hand to his back, scratching it like I did when he was young. He's five again in my eyes, vulnerable and easily upset.

"Gale…you're never going to be able to replace her." We each suck in a breath, steadying ourselves: sometimes, I think I miss Katniss just as much as he does.

"If you like this girl, Gale, she's more than welcome to stay. She seems…sweet." I look over at him, expecting some sort of response, but he remains silent. "But if you're substituting her for what you really want…I think it'd be best if she…"

"Left."

I nod.

He lowers his head into his shaky hands. "I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know what I'm doing. This happens with every girl. I try to find her in every girl I know, and everyone gets hurt…mom, I don't know what I'm doing. I just…I miss her." Gale buries his face in my shoulder. I cringe: watching my son, the strongest man I know, break down, reduced to this…it's heartbreaking. I close my eyes, trying my best to act unwavering for him. "I don't know what I'm doing," he says again, sitting up to stare at the photo of Katniss he has on the side table. We each take in her gray eyes, her tan skin, the long, dark braid hanging down her back. Her button nose, her gleaming teeth, the glow of her smile. The laugh lines around her eyes, the stress lines on her forehead, the way her feet fit perfectly into her father's hunting boots.

It's amazing, the details you remember after losing someone you love.

His voice is barely above a whisper. "I don't know what I'm doing."

I bend forward, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. "But you know what you need to do now."

He nods, leaning in to me for a second before he gets up. "Madge?"

I watch from the shadows as he makes his way over, opening the latch for her with a gentle hand. He drops his voice as he talks, blocking his words, but her reaction is telling enough. Her eyes widen to the size of saucers, her face pales a shade, and she nods, barely understanding. My heart sinks at the obvious pity in Gale's face, lined with distant shadows. He leads her protectively to the porch, where he uneasily embraces her before stepping away. Her eyes are rimmed with tears, her cheeks bright pink. Gale stands like a statue on the top step, unreachable.

Their lips fumble clumsily with their last words. After one final look at Gale, Madge takes off for the town square, disappearing into the darkness.

She was gone as quickly as she had come, now nothing more than a memory.

_Nothing more than a memory._

_Nothing more than a memory._

I had misjudged the mayor's daughter: I guess Madge and Katniss had something in common after all.


	2. Madge

_I'm sitting in a meadow. _

_It's peaceful here. Quiet. I suppose it's District 12, though I've never wandered this far into town: the meadow condescends with the Seam, somewhere merchants aren't often seen. Regardless of social class, however, beauty is everywhere. It's in the grass, electric green and knee high, offering a soft canopy for my head. It's in the sunlight, dripping onto my shoulders like rain, molding to my skin like candle wax. It's in the flowers, swaying in the breeze, draping me in their pollen. I feel fresh, I feel clean, I feel whole. _

_I feel whole. _

"Madge? Madge, can you hear me?"

The voice pulls me from unconsciousness, taking me farther and farther away from the escape that sleep offers. Half awake, I feel hands on my shoulders, rousing me back to the real world.

"Madge?"

I roll over onto my side, looking for the speaker with fuzzy eyes. My father, wearing a full suit and tie, smiles down at me, his forehead tense and wrinkled. Meeting my eyes, the lines soften, showing relief.

"Nice to see you awake, finally." My face twists in confusion. "Finally?"

As I sit up and stretch, all of my muscles resist, stiff as boards. "How long have I been asleep?"

He gives me a quizzical look. "You haven't moved in three days," he says cautiously, as if he can't believe I didn't know. "I was trying to get some work done, but couldn't, really. I came in every few minutes to make sure you still had a pulse. We were worried sick. Almost called a doctor."

"_Three_ _days_?" I ask, stretching the words out to show my shock. I can hardly make it through one night—what could have happened to make me sleep for three days? Suddenly, it hits me: Gale. All of the emotions I'd been suppressing hit me like a freight train, a crushing weight against my chest. My heart dropped into my stomach, pounding a million miles a minute. _Gale_…

_Gale Hawthorne broke up with you. Gale Hawthorne broke up with you._

Frankly, I'm surprised I hadn't slept longer.

"Don't go doing that again, promise? Scared me half to death." He sets his hand on my knee protectively, another smile on his lips. "Sure glad you're up, Madgie. I'll let you get ready." He slams the heavy wooden door behind him as he leaves.

The only way I know I'll get anything done is if I'm ordered: otherwise, I'll just curl up again, trying desperately to erase my memory. I began speaking harshly to myself, issuing urgent, robotic comments inside my head to push me along.

_Don't think of him. Let's get up._

I drag myself out of bed, almost falling to the floor on shaky legs. I pick up the first thing I see—a simple gray cotton sheath—and pull it over my head, pausing to do up the buttons in the front. On my feet go socks, followed by tan lace-up boots. Something nags me to wear my Mockingjay pin, so I relent, pinning it just above my heart.

_Don't think of him. Go get ready._

In the bathroom, I finger-comb through my blonde hair, wipe the feeling of grubbiness off my cheeks with a cloth. Turning the tap to the coldest setting, I splash freezing water onto my skin, cringing when the ice touches my pores.

_Don't think of him. Don't think of him_.

I face myself in the mirror instead, critically taking in all of my features. Probing my face with my hands, I glare at my porcelain doll skin. _Would he like me better if I was tan?_ I blink once, my blue eyes wide and glowing. _They can change my eye color in the Capitol, can't they? Gray's prettier, right? _I braid back my hair, turn to admire it, and then shake it out with a toss of my head. _Would I make a better brunette?_

I push myself off the counter, unable to look at myself further. The differences between me and Katniss were countless and dense. No change in me would make a difference—he's made up his mind.

Defeated, I fumble around in the drawers for my lotion. I slather my body with the kind Gale likes, the one that smells like peaches. It's not like I'll see him today, though—I'm just desperate for reminders. Desperate to think that if I did, he'd breathe me in and think of our nights in the meadow. Breathe me in and change his mind.

Sighing, I put the bottle back. _Don't be stupid, Madge. _It's unlike me to be this naïve.

As I stand, facing away from the mirror, I realize I'm becoming afraid of the effect Gale has on me. He's rooted himself so deeply, weaving his spell with no effort at all. I don't let people in—I have one friend, for crying out loud.

I sigh, feeling small. It's so easy to fall for Gale. The girls I'd seen crying at school, the ones who shut their notebooks when you walked by—they were his victims, the ones who'd thrown their hearts at his feet, who put his name to paper during their daydreams. You saw him walking down the halls, through the Hob, tall and dark and handsome, and you wanted him. Not just that, but you wanted him to want you. Maybe he smiled at you, or winked, or even met your eyes. Maybe you didn't say a word. It didn't matter—once it happened, boom. Just like that, you were gone. Just like I was…

Sadly, though Gale was everyone's type of guy, he only had one type of girl: Katniss. I had been an exception.

When I feel the prick of tears in my eyes, I pinch myself. I am not Madge Undersee the weak, the fragile, the lovestruck, following Seam boys around like a lost puppy. No, I am Madge Undersee the elegant, the strong, the poised…the one Gale Hawthorne doesn't want.

My head goes into my hands. This was going to be a long day.


End file.
